Last Notice
by Pinkie Tuscadaro
Summary: a short brutal story about what happens when Joey loses his temper with Craig, set around the time Craig buys that expensive guitar
1. Chapter 1

The business was in trouble, more than I thought. True, I'd been ignoring it a bit, putting bills aside. Saying to myself that I'd deal with it later but I didn't. I'd stuck my head in the sand. Well, the time to pay was getting near.

Cars weren't selling. A whole car lot full of cars that wouldn't move. People would look, sure. But people wouldn't buy. Why did I ever go into such a luxury item business? The overhead was killing me. I was in the red. I might have to sell the house.

I was trying to be cool for Craig and Angela, trying to act like nothing was wrong. This was getting to be harder and harder. I didn't have any patience anymore for either one of them.

Angie was in bed, Craig was out god knew where. I was at the table with my coffee that I drank like a fiend, cold bit of coffee left in the cup, bills in my hand. I was in over my head. Failing. Again. God.

I didn't even want to look at those bills. I didn't have the money to pay them, nowhere near. Last notice, that's what most of them said, last notice. Well, I still couldn't pay them whatever the notice, first, last, all the notices in between. No money equaled no money.

I knew about the check Craig's father left him, I know about the will. I know his father was loaded. But that's Craig's money that I want him to use for him, not for me, which is a major reason I've kept the whole mess from him. I'm trying to be the dad here. Failing miserably, but trying.

It's such an awful feeling, owing money you don't have, living on borrowed time, borrowing from Peter to pay Paul. Pick your cliché. The anxiety is wearing me down. I'm short tempered. I snap at people. I can't concentrate. This is hell. Hell.

It's getting later and later and still Craig isn't home. Damn that kid he knows it's a school night. I know he's got 10,000 dollars at his disposal and it's almost 10 o'clock and he isn't back. I can feel my blood pressure rising. I can feel the caffeine sizzling in what's left of my brain. I can feel so damn worried about everything. About Craig, about Angela, about the business, the bills, the every goddamn thing.

He waltzes in with Ashley and they both seem so happy and I try to be cordial. I want to scream at him, 'where have you been, huh?' But I do not. He sets a guitar case on the table. So he bought a new guitar with the money. Good for him. But they both have these wicked little smiles that I can't interpret.

"It's a fender strat," he says, and I lift it reverently from the case. It's beautiful.

"How much did this set you back? $400?" I say, and he and Ashley exchange smiles.

"What? Six?" I say, running one finger along it's gleaming side.

"Uh, no. More like $4000," I glance at him, at her, and put it back in the case, all admiration dried up. $4000 fucking dollars? I could, I could do so much with that. I could pay off some lethal bills and the thought crept into my head how much I've spent on Craig over the years.

"Oh. Well, enjoy it," I say, and leave. My face was getting red. I couldn't pay the damn hydro bill and he's buying a $4000 guitar? Something just didn't seem right here.

Up in my room, that senseless purchase of his knawing at me. Damn it. It was his money he didn't know I needed money and I didn't want to take his money. But I needed it. I needed some help. I figured I should go find Craig. In the kitchen I knew he was in the garage, I could hear the new guitar. Heard him strumming it, playing some chords, getting the feel of it.

"Craig?" His back is to me and he turns around and smiles, plays a few more notes.

"I've got a ways to go to sound like Hendrix, huh?" he says, self deprecatory. I nod and smile a strained little smile. That guitar, the money it cost, suddenly I'm enraged. All these bills over my head like a tidal wave and I just absolutely can not take it.

"Yeah, look, could you pitch in with some rent?" I say, and it sounds bad. Craig looks at me with a sharp, quizzical look.

"What?"

"I heat this garage for you, and the price of hydro…and you go through shoes like no one I've ever met,"

He's upset. His eyes get all squinted up.

"My dad's estate gives you money," His goddamn dad. If it wasn't for him I wouldn't have all these extra bills.

"Yeah, $250 a month. That barely keeps you in pizza,"

He walks away from me, and I can feel my anger rising. A beast on a leash. All this pressure and it's not too much to ask for a little rent. He turns back, his eyes still squinted up, his mouth moving but no words yet.

"Would you ask Angie this?"

That was it. Back talk and all that shit and all the money I owe. And a $4000 guitar. I couldn't take it. I step toward him fast and before I can stop myself I grab him by the wrists and shove him, hard. He falls to the floor and then stares up at me and I see that look, that terrified look Albert must have seen. The shame of doing that to him was overwhelming. It descended.

"Oh my god Craig I'm so sorr-"

"Save it," he says, getting up, not even looking at me. I watch him leave. I don't even try to stop him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Joey, c'mon," Snake trying to cheer me up. Angie was at daycare and Emma was picking her up. Craig left last night and hadn't come home. He might not come home today, either.

"Snake, did you hear me? I grabbed him, I shoved him to the floor…hard," I couldn't stand myself. Looked down at the table.

"He'll live,"

I shook my head, tapped my fingers on the tabletop.

"You don't understand. His father, he, I should never have done that. Now I'm like his father,"

I looked out the window. Craig wouldn't come home. I knew it. I felt it in my bones.

"Joey, you are not like his father. You haven't beaten him, you shoved him. Once. You haven't broken any of his bones or made him black and blue or terrorized him. You are nothing like Albert," Snake could sound so reasonable. He talked a good game.

"Yeah, but even so, just touching him like that, when I was angry, I swore I would never do that. He was so screwed up when he first came to live with me, he was so frightened. I wanted to be…to be a positive male role model, fuck," I slammed my fist on the table, almost hard enough to go through the table. This guilt was eating at my stomach lining.

"You are. You have been. I've seen him, too. I've had him in classes all these years and I've seen the changes. Positive changes because of you. He used to jump at every noise, he used to fall asleep in class, make excuses for everything. Wear long sleeves and all that in the nice weather. He was jumpy as hell. Now he's okay. Give yourself credit for that,"

Jesus, could Snake make it sound good. And I wanted to feel better. I wanted to believe that it was no big deal. A little shove. So what? But Craig was an abused child. You couldn't, you couldn't do that. I shouldn't have done that.

"How was he…today?" I could hear the nervousness in my voice. Heard it loud and clear.

"He was fine. Pissed off, but fine,"

I sighed, and all my worries came to nestle in my head. Bills. Selling the house. The car lot. Creditors and collection agencies and no one buying cars and utilities being shut off. Stress. Things were very stressful. Wasn't that the excuse Albert used to give for being "impatient" with Craig?

"Snake, he's not fine. He ran away. He, I traumatized him. It wasn't all that long ago, you know, when he lived with Albert. It was only two years ago. And now…"

"Joey, he's fine. You are not Albert. He knows that. But you live with him, and you're not always going to get along. And stress does happen, and people do things they don't want to do. You shoved him. He's fine. He will live. He will come home when he's ready. Give yourself a break,"

0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0

Getting later. Angie was home, coloring and watching T.V. It was getting darker faster and still he wasn't home. In a minute I was going to start calling people. Everyone who I knew he knew. I'd call them all.

So I went through it, all the kids on the list. Ashley sounded vaguely concerned, denied knowing where he went. Jimmy hadn't heard from him. Marco didn't know anything. Manny sounded flustered and surprised that I would think she'd know where he was. Spinner hadn't heard from him, either. Sean sounded guilty saying he wasn't there. That's where he was.

"Listen, okay, he doesn't want to talk to me or come home. But is he at least there? Please, I'm worried sick,"

"Okay, yeah," Sean said, and I could almost see him looking over his shoulder at Craig.

"He's there?"

"Yeah,"


	3. Chapter 3

I tried to feel relieved that I knew where he was, and I was. I'd feared that he may have run away for real again. I tried to believe what Snake said and that it was really no big deal. But I hated myself for what I had done. I knew it wasn't okay.

The bills were in the wooden letter holder and it was such a juxtaposition. That quaint wooden letter holder and the evil, modern unpaid bills. I glanced toward the cabinets, debating if I should have coffee or wine. I needed something. I was too stressed to just sit here sober. Then I remembered I had a bottle of aged scotch. A few shots of that would do nicely.

"Ang, time for bed," I said, and she looked up at me. Did I imagine reproach on her face because of Craig's absence? Maybe. But she quietly got up and went to brush her teeth and I dug around in the cabinets until I found the scotch.

I heard the water running in the sink upstairs as I poured the dark amber scotch into a heavy shot glass. Those little glasses were serious things. This was serious, all of this. I sipped it, felt it burning down my throat and exploding in my stomach, and even that first sip seemed to wear away a bit of the worry. This was how people became alcoholics, I thought. They just wore away their worry. Was that such a bad thing?

"Night, daddy," Angie said, bouncing over to me, and I kissed her. She looked so much like Julia. Craig did, too, but in a different way.

"Good night, baby," I said, and watched her climb the stairs to her bedroom.

I finished that first shot and poured myself another, started my worrying in ernest. I could not pay the bills. I'd have to sell the house. Then what? I'd have the extra money from the sale of the house for awhile but not for long. Money went fast. I couldn't hold onto it. And Craig. I had re-traumatized him. Snake was wrong. It wasn't like I just shoved a normal kid. Craig had been beaten, repeatedly, for years. He had been an absolute wreck when he came to live with me. He was jumpy, he was moody, he was angry. He tried to please me, all the time. He had had nightmares, in fact he still had them occasionally. I'd hear the sobbing, or the screaming, and I'd go into his room and he'd wake up and violently pull away from me, his eyes blank. He wasn't seeing me. He was seeing Albert. And then slowly he would come back to real things, he would recognize me and say my name, "Joey," He barely remembered these dreams and would often times be puzzled as to why I was in his room in the middle of the night, puzzled as to why he was awake.

"You had a dream," I'd tell him, and he'd look embarrassed, assure me that he was okay. But I knew that the scars were deep and now I'd…I'd done an unforgivable thing.

Scotch hit fast. I wasn't used to drinking such strong drinks. I'd perhaps drank more than I should have. Everything looked a little fuzzy. I felt warm and insulated. The numbers on the clock ran together when I tried to read them, a red streak that had no meaning. The door creaked open and I slowly turned in that direction, having no idea who would want to come here.

It was Craig, his hair plastered to his head, soaking wet. His black leather jacket was shiny with water, and the sweatshirt hood that stuck out of the back of the jacket was a full shade darker because of the water.

"It's raining?" I said, and heard a ringing in my ears.

"Yeah. It's raining," he said, and I heard the anger in his voice, saw it in his eyes. Oh I had fucked up. I knew. I knew.

"Craig, I'm sorry," I said, standing up and swaying, feeling the room slowly swing around me, "so sorry,"

He was looking at me with caution, and I stumbled toward him and hung onto him, trying to hug him, trying to tell him I didn't mean to get so angry, to shove him, to touch him like that.

"Joey, it's okay," he said, trying to disentangle himself from me but I hung on.


End file.
